Frozen in Your Eyes
by Daryl Falchion
Summary: Can a man with no heart, love? Can a woman betrayed, forgive? What does it take to pull two people together--and apart? Here is a tale of love found, and love lost and the adventure between. Magus&OC Discontinued
1. Prologue

**A Chrono Trigger Fanfic:**

**Frozen**

By Daryl Falchion

"Your heart is not open, so I must go...The spell has been broken, I loved you so...I was the lesson you had to learn...You were the fortress I had to burn...You want to go higher?...Learn to say goodbye...I yearn to say goodbye..." (Power of Goodbye; Madonna; Ray of Light)

The Enlightened's Lost Tome of Wisdom (Vol. 2, pg. 101): Mistrust–Mistrust is that which can kill. It does not destroy the body, rather it ravages the mind, the soul, the spirit. Like a poison it seeps into a victim's soul making them meticulously question details that they would never before. Misinterpreting individuals remember looks, gestures, and actions that simply did not exist. And rarely do the doubting individuals directly confront their fears–instead, they grant it the lease to consume them until there is no bridge left to salvage. In short, trust those you love...or lose them...


	2. Scene 1, The Magus

**Scene 1**

**The Magus**

HE was there.

The sin and evil reborn.

The prince of darkness.

_The Magus._

Aurora halted. Her heart did so as well, if only for a moment. In the span of that missing heartbeat, it returned with savage force. A new wind exhaled and inhaled in her garments, that of hunting leathers. Mere moments ago, the ranger-healer explored the distant reaches of her residence, eager to know where the evergreen forest lead to. Like the wind, she whispered over the grassy carpet, seeing everything and disturbing nothing.

But then she saw him.

Streaming a leather-gloved hand through her flame-emulating hair, Aurora kept the Magus in her line of sight. Thus, did she kept him in arrow-distance. He could not have known it, but the ranger-healer trained a three-bolt crossbow at his head. With a single release of her index finger and the Magus would be no more. In fact, Aurora wondered why she hadn't fired already.

Standing on a peak where tall brown grass writhed in mockery of life, his form cloaked in dark lavender, the prince of darkness raised two hands to his face. They rubbed his eyes, as if exhausted then lowered to grip a chipped wood fence. Soft breezes played over his figure offering him an ungodly, and godly, appearance. It seemed to be native to him, the wind, as if it were a long time friend–or foe.

_He must be overseeing the pillage of the_ _nearby settlement_, Aurora realized. Her heart melted to black. Here was the man that had ordered the execution of hundreds. Here was the man who'd tortured uncountable at mere caprice. Here was the man who symbolized all that was evil and malignant. That heart also froze to ice. If the Magus knew of her presence, he wouldn't hesitate to slay her in an instant. Rumor had it that he'd exterminated whole armies with a breath. Gazing at his powerful stance, his liquid power evident with every movement, she believed it.

Trees spread their leaved hands over her head, concealing some threads of light while permitting entrance of others. This, in turn, produced various patterns that lit her form where it found a landing. He, too, enshrouded with light, that of the sun that bore down on his figure as if the truth of humanity sought his damnation. He was a stark violet patch of midnight against the crystalline blue of the sky.

A backdrop of noise rioted in her ears. Murdering, raping, thieving, all of the mystics in their hideous glory. They loved nothing better than a good raid, especially if they moved without hindrance of opposition. Her palms sweated as she murmured for some god or another to have mercy on the souls of the dead. She couldn't see the slaughter but Aurora sensed it here. No birds sang. Or, if they did, they sang of death. Death designed by the Magus.

_Kill him already, Aurora, _screamed her good sense. But another side, more compassionate and more....pleaded with her not to do so. Fingers itching from her indecision, the ranger-healer sighed, impatient. Anyone else with half her skill would have fired long before this, seeing his foul blood spilling over the lands he tormented and dancing in glee. It was the prefect opportunity; she'd get no better. Two digits tightened in pre-firing stage...

Suddenly, the Magus clenched up his fists until they bled and covered his face with them, a portrait of despair. Bowing his head (in grief?) the prince of darkness slowly sank to the earth. His form fluttered more violently as if in response to the wind that abruptly intensified. If Aurora was not mistaken, the ranger-healer swore she'd heard weeping.

_The Magus–weeping?! _she shrieked, stunned. A feather could have knocked her over. How could a man with such a black soul feel any remorse? He'd murdered, raped, thieved; a million sins over and over again! It was insane!

Still, it gave her pause.

A snap of fire rushed her ears. Aurora glanced about, swallowing down fear. Beyond the hill flames exploded in wicked display. Now she could hear more screaming, sobbing, succumbing. Being both warrior and healer, Aurora knew her duty bound her to aid the village against the assault. But she remained paralyzed.

_What's going on? _silently she asked herself. Yet her fingers hovered over her weapon, ready to deal death or mercy. But, seeing his naked anguish, Aurora could not bring herself to do it. Thrice the ranger-healer cursed herself for being so sentimental. It was unlikely the Magus would have any doubts about her murder...

In sudden movement, the prince of darkness rose. As if burdened beyond mortal comprehension, he lifted his head, weary, his eyes gleaming melancholy. A fist gripped one silver-and-gold pendant where azure hair, like a vibrant waterfall fanned over it, the outline of Aurora reflecting. When his eyes, an odd mergence of fire-and-lilac as far as Aurora could note, trailed to the metallic surface he paused.

Now his eyes turned in her direction.

_He's found me! _Aurora cried, panicked. In reflective action, the result of years of training, her fingers tightened once. Then they released the center bolt. More alarm skittered her body like a spicy wine, for now she feared for him–not herself. Too late, she realized her mistake. Too late, the ranger-healer saw that her arrow would hit the dead center, the heart, of the Magus.

Light rippled from the medallion. It collided with her deadly bolt, slowing its projection. Even the feather she'd attached to the edge had singed. Yet, it continued its fatal flight. The Magus' expression was still too obscure to detect his thoughts of imminent extinction but she sensed no fear, only insane delight. Delight of death.

But he did not die.

Miraculously, the bolt struck the pendant instead of above his sternum. It rebounded, snared some of the Magus' lovely blue hair, and fell to the ground. He stiffened. After a sigh, of relief or disgust Aurora could not tell, he picked up the bolt with his thumb and index finger. His face filled with wonder.

Aurora was not going to permit him the chance to discover his assailant. Sense finally returned and screamed for her to run and run as fast as she could. She heeded.

Her green-booted feet tore the ranger-healer's sight from the Magus. Over rubble and vegetation she ran, not caring if she disturbed anything now. Her fine hair, the color of flame light, streamed in her wake. Two hands locked over the crossbow. Duo emerald eyes glittered feverishly. At last, she was safe. He was far away.

But in her mind's eye, the Magus was never far away.

"What?"

_It's SO hard to get good fat-ass generals these days...Oh, how I miss the good old days!_

Of course, Magus' good old days date back to around 12 000 B.C. while the current age was 600 A.D.–small wonder, then, that the generals he was looking for weren't available anymore.

The wizard streamed a hand through his azure strands and sighed. Ozzie's interest in his fairly unusual assassination attempt irked the sorcerer. _You'd think he'd take the hint that I'm not up to his cat-and-mouse game today. _The game of which Magus described had been a staple for a long time, pivotal foundation of their

'friendship'. Neither trusted each other. Neither would each openly object one another. Instead, both extracted immense pleasure and annoyance from deciphering the other mystic's moves. But Magus had begun to tire of the mind games and today he'd had enough all together.

Unfortunately, the green lump at his side blinked almost stupidly. If he were aware of Magus' annoyance, he in no way indicated it. Pudgy fingers probed the ruffles of a massively-sized white robe. Two equally-stout eyes squinted at Magus in a manner that all but made him want to slap the green thing that served as the beast's face. He had never liked Ozzie, hated him in fact, but the mystic proved useful so Magus kept him around.

"Yes, _Ozzie_," he replied as patiently as he could, which wasn't very. His tone, while cultivated as benefitting his dead stature as Prince of Zeal, nevertheless tinted with 'a parent to a dim-witted child' sound. "I was _fired _at. With _this _thing." Magus indicated the offending arrow. "Some_ woman_ with red hairtried to _kill_ me."

"Oh," was all general said. Magus observed carefully for any signs that Ozzie might be the culprit that coordinated such an endeavor. But the green slob merely loitered around the shadowy chamber with raised eyebrows. It did not absolve him of guilt but now was not the time for accusations.

Instead, the sorcerer dismissed the matter. Shoving the arrow in one of his many pouches, his fingers drifted to stroke the center gold candle stand. He breathed in the incense, dark scents and dark magic. Duo blood-violet eyes shut dreamily.

_Soon...Janus...soon..._

Too many 'soons'! He knew that. The dark prince had permitted external forces to consume his precious years. Why hadn't he done this already?

Because I wasn't powerful enough yet.

Because I had more pressing matters.

Because I should be ready before first.

In the black lake of his mind, Magus waved his hand disgustedly at such excuses. That's all they were, too. His eyes half-opened. Yes, now was the time. Or, rather, soon.

After all, he was the Magus and he commanded life and death.

"Shall I send mystics to find her?"

That jolted the wizard out of his trance; like a knife to silk it shredded his thoughts, leaving only deadly purpose behind. He did not answer immediately. Eyes encompassed the dwelling in which the sorcerer would make his stand. It was as familiar to him as that of his past lovers' faces–correction, more familiar.

Shadows draped over the far areas like an immaculate ebony curtain. More shadows, these less firm, skittered the length of walls and birthed and vanished at the chamber flames' whim. Those fires, the color of Magus' hair, conducted no smoke, merely incense. Candle stands also produced light, more natural, of gold and flickered with inconsistency. Both lit the massive statue in the farthest reach of the chamber.

A demonic lair. But, what did one expect with a man named the Magus?

"No," he drawled. Fingers spawned the arrow again and drew it past his lips. A fascinating taste, of forest and lakes, tantalized his tongue. This instrument of death amused him. "No, _I'll _find her. Once I learn of her 'grievance' the situation will be appropriately tended to."

Ozzie snorted. It was a near-direct order not to interfere. His portly form rumbled as the general stepped around the floor's pentagram. A hauntingly beautiful tapestry of navy and crimson had been weaved to demonstrate the fundamentals of magic. Ozzie didn't really understand the more complex aspects but Magus did.

Suddenly, the general looked up with a shrewd and perverse expression, "Why do you suppose she shot at you? A scorned lover, perhaps?"

Casting him a scalding glance, Magus' eyes returned to the bolt that had almost ended his existence. It wouldn't have been such a terrible thing: what did his horrid life amount to? An endless, fruitless search for the one person who'd ever loved him; a search that would undoubtably lead to his demise? Acrimonious and heart-sick, the sorcerer gazed at his gold-and-platinum pendant hanging from a chain on his neck. And it was then that he noticed the mark.

Arrow to locket; ranger to sorcerer. A connection existed

Laughter extended the length of the chamber.

"Oh, she would only be too lucky...but the dead make poor lovers."

Ozzie chuckled.

Magus continued, "Because when I find her, I'm going to kill her."


	3. Scene 2, To Each's Own

**Scene 2**

**To Each's Own**

"Blood is thine soul, death is thine heart...Be strong against thy wind, let no darkness part...Like a virgin defiled, night steals my breath...Why thy cherish life when there is death?"

These lyrics echoed again and again–lyrics from a long-forgotten song about the descent into evil. And who better to sing it than the Magus?

To that, Magus sneered. But the sneer had a bitter edge in it–one directed at himself. Yes, those words rang more true in his heart than anything the sorcerer had ever spoken in his contaminated life. _He_ was the prince of darkness...an evil more vile than the night itself.

But, then, what was evil? This did Magus wonder on his trek through the woods. A few days ago he'd been overseeing a battle with one of the maimed villages. He despised the forced watchdog duty. The Magus was above such things or so he verbally claimed. Truthfully, the massacre made him ill and grieved and he desired no more participation in the slaughter _he _had orchestrated. But Ozzie was right–the mystics were losing faith in his ability to lead. Lately the prince of darkness had become more distant, fading from this reality. His concentration kept returning to the great project: Operation Extermination.

Even as his gloved fingers caressed a feathered arrow, the one that had dared mar his medallion, Magus smiled. It had all the malicious humor and none of the warmth. Lavos, a beast that had ripped him from one person in his contemptible existence that had ever loved him, was about to get his. Magus would not be denied. His goal was within his grasp–the winds foretold it!

That wind knifed his form like mocking laughter. For years the black winds had tormented him with prophecies that screamed disaster. Even now, in his thirties and a near-god, that malevolence breeze taunted him. But that would not stop him...nothing could stop him.

Again the winds ridiculed him. Its embrace was the embrace of an ex-lover. Chill filled his form and Magus cursed himself for not having brought his favorite cloak. That violet cloak, a valuable artifact he'd discovered in the underwater Kingdom of Zeal, had the ability of almost complete concealment. And it was considerably more warmer than the crimson cape he'd donned.

His thoughts drifted back to the battle...what a farce that was! "You didn't stand a chance, did you, humans?" Magus mumbled softly, part bitter scorn, part bitter regret. At times, he forgot to include himself in the ranks of humanity. He thought, breathed, killed, like a mystic. Yes, that battle was easily won at the cost of his soul.

But who was that woman?

His life-candle had nearly been extinguished at the flight of_ this_ bolt. His fingers found the curves of feathers, aspen, and hair. She'd almost killed him. He shuddered at the thought...that, and his apathy at death.

Twin blood-lavender eyes trailed from arrow to pendant. As he'd noted before, they'd made a connection; albeit a violent one. Aye, and a connection between assailant and victim as well. In vision that was only in his mind, Magus still saw her. Crimson hair like a sunset, eyes that were the green of these hunting grounds, she poured in him like a wine in a glass.

Were he to meet her again would he murder or make love to her?

Cool laughter, Magus', made the birds take flight. "Murdering's more fun..." he whispered, pleased at his own bizarre humor. "Now if only I could find my 'killer'..."

_Swish._

Magus' head snapped up, his fingers concealed the arrow, and he drew his scythe all in immaculate, practiced sequence. Something moved in the shrubbery to his left and the shadow sorcerer strode to investigate. One hand gripping the deadly weapon his other parted the vegetation. That's when he saw her.

And the prince of darkness found her alright. But it wasn't what he'd envisioned.

She lay on the ground, pooled by blood...her own. Those lovely flame locks merged with the life as if they were one. Four thugs surrounded her inert body. One was of a shaved head and hunting leathers, a deep scar marring his right eye. The three others seemed to be under his command. They wore fabric of slightly less quality, each with a beard, and listened to the first's every order. At this moment the lesser scoundrels clutched the unconscious form and prepared to drag her. With a glance at their gleaming eyes, Magus had no doubt as to their intentions.

"Shit," he snapped in near-inaudible tones. What was he to do? At first, the darker side of his humanity cried that he joined the outlaws in the malicious work. Immediately, he dismissed that thought. He was no rapist–never was, never would be. He only killed those that opposed him (assassination, for one...) and such maiming as defiling the young woman served no purpose.

His next option was to blast the entire mass with his magic. That, too, he banished from his mind. Magus wanted to question his assassin as to her motives. Did Ozzie send her? It would not be unlike the green lard. He still suspected his general's foul play. Did the knights orchestrate her moves? They, too, would commit such a dirty, cowardly deed.

Yet in this indecisive state of mind, the sorcerer watched as the woman awoke. Her emerald eyes dilated in absolute horror. "And now she realizes her predicament," Magus muttered. Color drained from her features. Any fine-bred noble woman would have fainted away by now but she did not. Weaponless, ally-reft, still she struggled, if but in vain as they knocked her senseless again. The sorcerer had to give her credit for that.

Something inane snapped inside Magus. On the fringes of his memories, he relieved the moment a bratty, frightened Janus was surrounded by Ozzie and his minions. In his mouth was still the horror of being kidnaped. The sight of this poor woman's dilemma only furthered his own.

"Trapped, tortured, dying from terror...and no place to turn..." he whispered, unbidden. With that rare line of sentiment he attacked.

Rationality was never the prince of darkness' strong point. Blinded by rage and pain, he cast the most powerful spell that came to mind. And a powerful spell it was, there could be no more omnipotent: Dark Matter.

A shadow suddenly ripped from non-existing night. It produced more shadows as if it were immense light. Threads of midnight wrapped around the woman's attackers. Magus insured that it did not touch his would-be killer. Melting into the ruffians' bodies, tearing screams from their throats, it digested their living organs. Finally, they

disintegrated into nothing. Silence could be heard.

Quick was Magus as he dodged the knife that threatened to slay him. _Bless the_ _reaper, everyone thinks to kill with a throw! Cowards! _That said without a word, he promptly seized the dagger and hurled it back the direction from whence it came. No effect; the action was expected and ducked.

Because of his rash action, the prince of darkness had missed the leader in his magical assault. He remained near the woman, seeming to threaten her life. A spear menaced her throat. "She mean something to ya laddie? Aye, then come out from your bush and lay down your weapons–or your missus be getting her throat slit."

Magus snorted angrily, but obeyed. Of course he had no attachment to the woman. After all, his plan was to kill her once he'd secured her purpose. But dead women give no sources of information, so the sorcerer abandoned his perch and lowered his scythe. He was hardly afraid. Rather, he was waiting for the right moment...

Entering the glade, Magus came within sight of the outlaw. His parched, scarred face squinted in an attempt to place Magus' face. A smile came to the prince of darkness lips. _If only he knew who he held captive..._The sorcerer bided his time. Light streamed from the trees in angles to shadow and lighten his face. Finally, recognition.

"You be that Magus fellow!" he cried. "You be a valuable prisoner."

Now Magus laughed openly. "You'll get no ransom for me. The mystic's care not for their kin, even their master."

The leader's chuckle iced Magus' heart. "Maybe not. But I'm sure the King of Guardia would _love_ to get his hands on the Magus. I wonder what he'd do with you..." His voice trailed off in deliberate mystery.

Magus could only guess–but, then, he decided he didn't really want to know.

_Swish. _One fire-and-lilac eye observed the stirring woman. The leader was starting to turn around to gauge what was amiss. Instantly, an idea sparked in Magus. If he could distract the outlaw maybe the woman would disable him. Not what Magus had originally in mind but improvising was good right about now.

Coloring his tone with the blue of indifference, the sorcerer remarked, "Did you really think to take the all-powerful Magus so easily? Ha! At this very instant I could kill you where you stand." Untrue, Magus knew, because he'd used the last of his magic reserves with Dark Matter, but he fancied the imagined danger would occupy his foe.

And it worked. The leader's attention no longer riveted on the rising woman. It focused on _him_. "What! Yeah, right. Don't be giving me any lip, dark boy." He jabbed his spear into Magus' side, slightly wounding him. "If you can why haven't you, already?"

Magus calculated his 'killer's' movement. His own eyes absorbed hers. Closer. Closer. Closer. "Because I would much rather do it–NOW!"

Both woman and prince acted. Magus parried the spear with his scythe that reappeared in his arms. The woman battered her attacker with a sizable rock. He staggered.

But the leader was not done in. Poking his fingers into Magus' delicate eyes, blinding him, the outlaw turned his javelin on his victim. She sidestepped but not soon enough. It struck her cheek and sent her into a tree. She did not move.

Now Magus, three-quarters sightless, was alone against the man. Nor did the criminal offer a chance for retribution. Pelting the prince of darkness with his halberd, he proceeded to bash Magus' head in. Though Magus could not see his blood he felt it rushing from a wound at the base of his skull. This was no longer a battle to procure information–it was a basic struggle for survival.

Whereas Magus was starting to panic, his inner fortitude forced his mind in sequenced defense. Dart this way. Parry. Dodge. Again, move. Only by listening to the man's rapid breathing did Magus note his location. His black vision did not dissipate but the sorcerer had more pressing matters to attend to.

He sought to inflict the same visionlessness onto his adversary, seeing how he only needed to slash the left eye. But his attack came up empty. The leader was not where Magus supposed him to be. Instead, a pain as sharp as a thousand arrows cleft him. _He's run me through with his spear, _Magus noted in horror.

Magus was wrong. The attack _did_ penetrate flesh and muscle but the attacker's thrust was clumsy with fear and only marred his shoulder. Nevertheless, Magus reacted as a cornered wolverine does–with savagery. He clawed into his aggressor, leaving several more scars to augment the leader's many, and fired him with a feeble flame sphere. It repelled the man. In fact, the leader decided to run for dear life. Magus heard and knew this because of the grass rustled as the man disappeared.

That was a wise decision...Magus would fight to the death and not his own. The attacker was not prepared for that.

Exhausted, wounded, and yet blind, Magus stumbled to the bloody grass. Pain racked his shoulder and eyes. A string of obscenities came from his lips at his stupidity. Indeed, the woman's information was not worth his injuries. If he should return to Ozzie now he would be torn to shreds like a wounded wolf. Despair blanketed his heart.

The prince of darkness didn't know why but he proceeded to search the dead for the woman. Maybe he was hoping to slay her for his misfortune. Maybe he was hoping she'd kill him for hers. Finally, a hand gripped his.

"Stop..." a voice rasped. Magus halted.

"Who are you?" asked the wizard softly. He guessed it was the woman. Who could have survived his Dark Matter, since the leader had fled?

No response. Magus then whispered, "Help me, woman. I...I can't see." _Very stupid, Magus, _he snarled to himself. His 'assassin' was unlikely to care about his welfare. In fact, the body of the hand he gripped brought a dagger to his throat.

"Do...n't...m...ove or I'll...kill ya."

He recognized the voice. It was one of thugs! He had survived! Magus did as he was bid. Again, his concern for his sight became secondary. The thug lifted off the ground, dragging Magus with him, twice a hostage in one day. The prince of darkness had no idea what his captor had in mind but the possibilities were endless–and frightening.

A shriek, a struggle, and everything went silent.

Suddenly the knife disappeared and two arms lowered him to the ground. He could smell the scent of his killer-turned-savior. She murmured, "Hold still, you're just encouraging the blood to run. Let me heal your wound."

Blind, agonized, and drained, Magus could offer no resistance. Like a touch of a mother–no, sister–healing sensations poured through him. Her voice, as soft as a dove, filled him with rare serenity. Her arms enveloped him.

He gasped a thanks. But for some reason she stiffened. "Do I know you, sir?" she questioned, anxious.

_She's beginning to recognize me! I must flee! _And that Magus did. Erupting from her grasp, the unseeing sorcerer spun on a heel and raced into the vegetation. Leaves and other plant life brushed his form but he thought of that one thing: escape.

"Sir, sir! Come back here! I can help you! COME BACK!"

He would not. If Magus returned she would grasp his identity and kill him. Now only his wit and keen sense would aid him. Running through the forest, blind now as if in true darkness, Magus' instinctive skills told him of the location of his castle. The sorcerer made his way in that direction.

But the prince of darkness would get no farther than a hundred paces. He struck steel, dead on his forehead, and collapsed. Breathing came to his ringing ears, that of which he pinpointed–the leader! And from the sound of it he had recruited several reinforcements.

As Magus sunk into another darkness, that of unconsciousness, he knew with a gut-wrenching sensation that he was going to die.

"I said COME BACK HERE!" Aurora yelled at the top of her lungs.

But he did not answer. Nor did her enigmatic deliverer return. Ranger-healer sighed, exasperated. Every girl with even the least romantic imagination always dreamed of being saved by a handsome knight in shining armor. He would save the girl from a fictional dragon and ride off with her on a white steed into the sunset.

Hence, this was hardly the rescue she'd pictured.

One green-gloved hand on the hilt of a short sword and the other parting the foliage that hindered her march, Aurora searched for her 'knight in shining armor'. The forest was yet too quiet. She bit her lip. A sure indication of danger, she knew, and very near.

Light waterfalled from the scantily-veiled sky. Her feet easily found the grassy carpet, its rubble, plant life, and whatnot. Dare she cry out to him again? What if the thugs that had ambushed her were still about? No, but should she continue? Was it really worth it?

_Yes,_ she answered to herself, _because he saved my life. I owe him safe passage_ _through woods that I lay claim as mine. Besides, the poor man can't even see!_

All of these were ample enough reasons to continue her trek. However, none of them were the true logic behind her combing the forest. It lay in her heart.

Then, Aurora stopped as if she'd collided with a wall.

Blood.

Her gasp ran thin from her lips. A not-so-straight line extended to the length of a number of paces to her right and beyond. It was a crimson string, flashing against the sunlight like a flame. The coppery tang flittered up her nostrils and related that the blood was fresh. That meant her savior probably yet lived...Yet.

She quickened her pace. Abandoning stealth, but not silence, Aurora followed the line like one might an insistent dog. All the way her heart hammered in her ears. What was being done to him? Now the ranger-healer's face contorted with fury and determination–it was time the knight got rescued.

Finally, the line ended...and the brutality began.

As Aurora approached, bow aimed at no noise and every noise, her vision revealed a wounded man on the grassy canopy. Like wine the color of blood, his life liquid spilled from a number of deep gashes and laced into his chilling crimson cape. It was he, the one that had saved her life. And now she had to save his.

The superior among the bandits had enlisted allies. Four men in black cloaks that listened to nothing but they're own perverse souls. They danced around her savior in malicious glee as they tore him limb from limb. Bones snapped in horrific fashion. Hot blood splattered all around. It made Aurora want to be violently ill.

However, she contained her retches. That man needed the ranger-healer's courage now. He apparently could not defend himself; his assailants had knocked him comatose. Her heart still thundered, so loud she feared it might betray her presence. What to do? What to do?

Breathing slowly, Aurora realized a solution. Sheathing her blade, the ranger-healer quietly hauled out her crossbow. Fingers trembled as she nocked three arrows. She could not possibly hope to nail them all before her adversaries overwhelmed her. But, Aurora did have the element of surprise.

Praying that she would not be too late, Aurora let loose the bolts. A trio of bolts rained into the ranks, striking two and killing one almost instantly. The feathered shaft extended from his neck and severed his jugular vein. Infuriated, the leader screamed for his men to uncover their attacker. They complied.

Moving swiftly, time being of the essence, Aurora let another cluster rip. More cries of hatred and rage. Still, she didn't wait for them to grab her. The ranger-healer raced to another boulder and released yet another number. This she kept up until her enemies were thoroughly baffled.

"Find that bitch!" screamed the leader.

Aurora had no wizardry to rely on. But the animals of this forest did occasionally listen to her command. She prayed they would humor her this day. Sticking index and middle fingers into her mouth, the ranger-healer whistled twice. Like good little pets should, two birds flew into her midst. Her opponents still searched angrily.

Whispering in thanks, Aurora immediately set to her plan. Timing was crucial. Placing a bolt into both of her feathered friend's beaks she bid them fly. And they did. Now Aurora divided more shrubbery to detect the presence of her opponents. Like shadows from a person's darker side, they investigated every bush, rock, plant, to find her. If they discovered her, the ranger-healer would be as good as dead.

Waiting until the birds flew just above two of their heads, Aurora whistled, again. Obedient, they dropped the arrows. Neither actually hit their targets. But it confused the men just as she hoped. They split into groups and tore through the forests. Now, to save her savior.

Once Aurora arrived, she beheld the leader siting on a boulder, cleaning blood off his javelin. He seemed utterly uninterested in the huddled form of the man he'd blinded. Her emerald eyes set hard. Did he? Was he? Dear god, was she too late? Was he...?

A soft groan of agony restored her breath. It had come from her champion as he stirred. Hair as blue as a lake when sun hits it merged with rusty life fluid. He was conscious; if just enough to realize his plight and the torture that had been inflicted. His eyes squinted in pain...but they did not open. There was something undeniably familiar about him; as if she met him not in the waking world but a dream.

"Aye, now where's your black magic, mage? Yes, sir, the king will be wanting to meet yer acquittance. Beg mercy?"

His prisoner muttered something. Something that didn't sound decent.

Such impertinence warranted discipline, or at least the leader thought so. He struck the man's back with the flat of his spear, effectively silencing him. Aurora supposed she should have ended the brutality right then and there. But something stole her breath away. Black magic? Mage? Who exactly did the attacker think he had?

Slamming the lid on such thoughts, she could pursue them later, the ranger-healer nocked three arrows into her crossbow. Narrowing her eyes, she sighted her prey. At least one was bound to hit home–in fact, all three should.

And one did. It _twanged _and landed at his hip. A yelp of rage came from his lips. The other two went wide. Rare it was that Aurora should miss a single shot, let alone two, the ranger-healer just shoved her fingers into her quiver.

But she came up empty. Horror lightninged down her spine. Hastily, Aurora drew her short sword. Meanwhile, the leader charged. She braced for impact.

Spear met sword in a violent exchange. Metal sparks flew. The interlocked weapons engaged, each of their owners attempting to force the other to fall. Unfortunately for Aurora, that meant her.

Before the situation got that dire, the ranger-healer withdrew and swung in a fierce arc. Again, blades clashed. Exerting pressure at his wrist, the bald-headed bandit forced her to lower to her knees. The pain was unbelievable. Still, she fought back, more for that nameless man's sake than her own.

_Must...hurry...others...will...be...back..._

That would spell disaster.

Again, she broke the hold. But the only means of doing that, without his javelin coming down on her elbow, was to release her sword. Aurora dodged the consecutive thrusts of the leader. His downward cut sliced through air. Like the wind she darted this way and that and had about as much affect.

And like the wind, she must stop. Exhausted from ducking innumerable blows, Aurora halted to catch her breath. It was costly mistake, even as it was a necessary one. Seizing the opportunity as he seized her, the one-eyed thug dragged her near.

"Well, now lass, maybe we will be having you after all..."

His arms drooped. His eyes bulged. His scream was hideous.

Before Aurora could comprehend what that all meant, the bandit had abandoned her and was fleeing, _again_, through the forest. My, but he was a cowardly thug. Blood trailed his left heel. From the looks of it, it had been cut to the bone. Aurora shuddered.

"I bit him."

Aurora spun to the voice. His! Immediately, the ranger-healer dropped to her savior's side, gripping the man in her firm arms. Blood continued its descent from numerous wounds. Bruises constituted the least of his worries. He'd have scars for life.

"You have sharp teeth," she commented.

He smiled and she realized with pity that he could not yet see. Would he ever again? Dismissing that, Aurora whispered, "They're still around here. We must flee...can you walk?"

The moment she'd spoke, the ranger-healer knew the idiocy behind the words. Of course, he couldn't walk! It was a miracle he stilled lived! Even though Aurora knew that to be true, her savior valiantly struggled to stand. Pain skittered across his exotic features. For as odd and familiar as he appeared, he was a strikingly handsome man.

Her hands shoved him back down. "No, you can't. We'll find another way."

Those pain-filled features twisted into another smile. "Take me into your arms." Startled was not the word. Aurora felt as if she were falling down a massive canyon at his demand. But the ranger-healer obeyed.

Once she held her yet-nameless-hero, he commenced an incantation. It was brief. Two spidery words crawled up Aurora body. Suddenly, the ranger-healer was afloat. She gasped. Stranger still, her savior felt as light as...well, light!

"...Carry me...away..." he breathed, on the fringes of unconsciousness.

Again, Aurora did as she was commanded. With him clasped in an embrace, ranger-healer glided over the ground, not even touching it. They made excellent speed. As far as she could tell, there was no pursuit. Smooth sailing...sort of.

Except this wasn't the 'riding off into the sunset' that she'd imagined.


	4. Scene 3, Angels in Waterfalls

**Scene 3**

**Angels in Waterfalls**

_..."Schala!" cried a blue-haired boy. His eyes, of like color, expanded in sheer joy. Rare it was that his dear sister had time to spend with him so the boy cherished each moment. Not many loved ones could be counted in Janus' inner circle, maybe near to none, but Schala exceeded them all._

_The eyes of his sister, also of that shade, glimmered. Gently, she encompassed the youth. "I love you, Janus," she whispered. "I always have. I always will."_

_A sniffle then, "I love you, too, sis."_

_Suddenly her arms starting fading for no reason at all. The boy flung out his own in desperation. Like the receding of the celestial body at sundown, so did she keep diminishing. Finally, his composure shattered akin a mirror after too much heat and his hand shot out to seize hers..._

Like a bolt of lightning, Magus awoke.

"Let go!" demanded a beautiful woman whom sat at his side.

Realizing, by looking down, he held her captive through his grasp, he hastily did as asked.

Golden sunlight streamed from a near-by window to crawl over his form. It highlighted his features with immaculate effect. Sweat beaded his brow and he swept it aside with the back of his hand. With that same limb, the sorcerer forced his curtain of sapphire-hued hair to retreat to his shoulder. His breath came in labored gasps. Yes, he was alive but he doubted it would require much to make short work of that miracle.

_How did I survive? What's been going on? Where am I? _

The woman seated on his current bed watched him intently. Her aqua dress only enhanced the green in the lovely depths of pupils. Like a flame from a scone, her curls dangled with each elegant movement. Despite the sharpness of her expression, the narrowing of eyebrows, he sensed vast relief. And that face...

His own brows lifted dramatically. _My assassin is my rescuer! Oh, what irony! _

Leaning over the side, she clutched a silver tray with a bowl of soup, orange juice and a slab of bread. "Hungry?"

He was ravenous. Devouring the feed with an efficiency only paralleled by his magical skill, the wizard cleaved through the food like he'd never eaten his life. As he ate, Magus noted her still observing. The prince of darkness slowed his pace.

Her laughter filled the room with good-humor. "I'd imagine you'd be famished. You haven't eaten in over two weeks."

Magus nearly dropped his glass. His face registered disbelief. "TWO WEEKS?! That's how long I've been out?" he questioned with a tone of incredulity that equaled his expression.

"Not out, silly. You've been delirious and I couldn't force more than a morse or two down your mouth." She fell silent, grim. "I didn't know if you'd make it. You're lucky, you know. How do you feel?"

He downed the liquid. The wizard didn't much like the common fare–his experienced taste and stature demanded superior quality–but since he was fortunate to be alive, period, he didn't contest it. "Honestly, I feel like shit. But I guess after getting the Void beat out of you that comes with the territory."

His comment drew more laughter. It was warm and uplifting yet it carried a note of sorrow. "I can't blame you for feeling like that. After what you went through I wondered if I was too late. I'm glad I wasn't."

"So am I."

The young woman then promptly detailed his various injuries. While she did that, his rescuer also cleared the area of debris. After cleaning the dishes like a dutiful wife, the woman then proceeded to organize his apparel. And a sharp pang knifed Magus.

_Bless the reaper! Dose she know?_ His eyes trailed over her journey through his garments. Soon she would encounter her arrow and discover the hideous truth. And that would be the end of him.

Hoping the conversation could distract her, the sorcerer said out loud, "So...the list goes like this: one broken arm, several cracked ribs, numerous cuts and bruises, a punctured lung, a bashed-in skull and both legs shattered almost beyond repair. On top of that, I was legally blind."

When she nodded her head, Magus continued. "I do believe you're right–I am a tremendously fortunate fellow." As he'd hoped, the woman laughed and abandoned her task of scouring his clothing. Instead, she strode to him on the cot and seated herself on his left.

The fragrance of her hair shocked him with intoxication. Her beauty was incomparable; to call it mere beauty is to compare her river to a teardrop. He found it unsettling. Then mirth found his thoughts. _Brilliant, Magus. Get attracted to a woman who'd slit your throat. Man, do I have strange tastes..._

Her words shattered his train of thought. "My name is Aurora Veronica Kaili. And yours is?"

Nimbly, his tongue leapt to a lie. "...Janus. Janus Zeal." Well, it wasn't technically a lie and there was no way in the Void he'd tell her the unblemished truth. Magus was a number of things but being an idiot was not one of them.

Those leaf-green eyes widened as she whispered, "That's a beautiful name."

Magus didn't reply. A name was a name; it mattered little to him.

The ranger-healer commenced his restoration again. Apparently, she'd been at it for weeks, first from the initial brush with death, then a bout of fever, and lastly to revive his vision. Ultimately, she continued now to repair wounded appendages. It came quite apparent that she'd changed him. Such an action with nary any permission didn't offend him; if anything he found it quite humorous. As Aurora labored over his body, in frequent uncompromising positions, Magus pondered his predicament.

_What will she do when she discovers I am not who I claim to be? Or, rather, that I conceal my alter ego? _

Killer.

Savior.

Killer, again?

It was threatening possibility–probability.

All the while, the healer worked on him, Magus feigned examining his current dwelling. It was in good health, he noted, though he was used to miles better. A wooden cabin, furnished not unlike a lodge, with sweeping reverse-corner panels. This was one of several chambers. Two windows served to exhibit his outside environment. Fresh lilacs, not his choice of embellishment, rested in a glass at a night stand near his bed. While it was a pleasant residence, he could hardly make it a prime place to visit...he was missing the usual blue flame, substituted for a hearth, the massive cabalistic statues, exchanged for flower pots, and the screaming of his prisoners, reciprocated for bird's chirping.

In other words, it was Magus' nightmare reincarnated.

Again, she spoke, "I think it's time you got some more rest." Seeing him preparing to rise, she laid a hand on the wizard's chest, forestalling his objections. Her tone was gentle but firm. "No. You are not fully healed. You're very lucky, Janus. Don't push it."

He sighed his resignation.

She rose from the cot and wished him sweet dreams. Obediently, Magus shut his eyes. Natural primitive instincts waged war in his mind–the last time he'd lost his sight, the sorcerer feared he'd never see again. But discipline maintained his composure. She'd restored his sight and much else.

Prince of darkness was now immeasurably thankful for not having brought his purple cloak–she'd have recognized that for sure. As well, the mystic realized why she hadn't detected his true identity already...that very concealing cloak still held her enthralled...and unless Magus removed that spell Aurora would never know. _Not that I'm going to do that! I'm no idiot. _Feeling the softness of the sheets and the aching of his body, the wizard let himself rest.

But he did not sleep.

Sword-tipped ears prickled at Aurora's movement sounds. Magus waited for her to search his attire again and unearth the treachery with a sharp, sick feeling. His heart thudded to her every breath. Mercifully, her cry of betrayal never came.

The door shut softly. In the velvety blackness, the sorcerer waited until he assured himself she would not return unexpectedly. Then, Magus stole out of the blankets and poured through his clothing. Ever nerve in his body positively screamed against those actions–indeed, he was still not fully healed–but he continued anyway. What different did his discomfort make if she slayed him, the sorcerer reasoned. His hands met daggers, gold coins, even his precious medallion which he promptly pocketed.

And an arrow.

Again Magus sighed, that of sheer gratefulness. Ten delicate digits ventured the length of the wooden shaft, from its high-quality steel tip to its exotic numerously-feathered end. Eyes lit in the morning's half-golden, half-grey light. Here was the item that would betray his true nature. With a soft magical word, he ignited it.

Sparse flames licked the extent clean. Soon, there was no more bolt. A third sigh. And a smile, half-bitter, half-mocking. "Sorry, my dear, but Magus isn't ready to show his real colors just yet. Maybe never."

Silently, he returned to bed. Now his thoughts did not haunt his dreams.

They should have been...unfortunately, Magus didn't notice in his fevered haste that a single feather, separated from its kin, had survived the burning.

But what you don't know, you can't dream about.

The delightful smell of bacon filtered Aurora's nose. That was joined by a spark from savage fats that danced in the meat. The healer tilted her flame-emulating head to a side, partially-closing her eyes dreamily. Outside, she could hear the sweet chirping of birds as they greeted the fresh morning...and her.

She whistled back and two sparrows glided down to sit on her open window. As if joyous to know they'd pleased their audience, the birds continued their song. Aurora listened, absentmindedly, her mind returning to the face of _him_ as it always did when nothing demanded her immediate attention.

_But it always comes back to you, doesn't it, Janus? _

It had been weeks since the ambush. Already, the ranger's wounds had healed nicely, all limbs in perfect functioning order and her mind as sharp as a dagger. Aurora's mind yet held sight of the attackers and a sigh passed her lips. If it hadn't been for her savior...

"I guess each of us has an angel, right?" asked Aurora of the birds. Of course, she expected no response except for a chirp which both obliged. Yes, that eccentric, exotic stranger had saved her from death, and worse–at the peril of his own life. Indeed he'd almost paid that price; the price of a daring good samaritan.

But just as he'd rescued her, she had amply repaid the favor. Or had she? The poor man had suffered one hell of a long torture. After Aurora had delivered Janus to her cabin rendezvous, he'd been near death. And he'd hung on that thread of life for days, her healing spells and potions barely sufficient to sustain him.

As if that wasn't bad enough, her savior developed a severe case of a fever. She'd yet to fathom its origins. For another week the ranger-healer labored on him. His will to survive and stamina must have been immense, indeed, for the man had emerged from that as well. Like a mother tending a child, Aurora stood by his side, feeding, changing, healing, protecting–the entire scope of attending to.

Except bathing.

Aurora's smooth porcelain face crimsoned. No, she couldn't bring herself to do _that_. No doubt he needed one but the ranger wondered just how much Janus would tolerate. For days now, he'd been awake and must have noticed his change in attire. Yet, he offered no protest, dressed in an off-white linen shirt, brown pants, and lime vest, an outfit that had been her brother's. It was not his usual apparel, she noted, but his clothing was definitely beyond anything she'd seen before let alone attained.

_...Why is he so familiar?..._she wondered as Aurora flipped the burning bacon.

Throughout the weeks, his face reminded her vividly of someone she'd seen before. Despite that, the healer could not place those beautiful outlander features. Certainly, he was not familiar! How could she have met one such as himself?

That memory frequently taunted, still out of reach, like something or someone had placed an obstacle in that corridor of her mind and kept her frustrated. _Well, if I really do know Janus from somewhere I'm sure I'll remember soon enough..._

"Ouch!" she cried.

Her hand gleamed red from a burn. With her uninjured limb, Aurora cradled the wounded appendage. Emerald eyes took in the metal frying pan that proceeded to snap savagely as if it were a rabid dog. Then, she realized her error.

Thoughts had her attention and distracted her from the bacon. Thus, the pan become extraordinarily scalding and scorched the healer's negligent hand. Plus, the meat was burned.

"Oh, well, if Janus gets picky, he can just eat eggs and toast." So saying, Aurora withdrew the mangled bacon and, tossing the inedible away, added it to a plate. That plate already contained a fire-burned toast and likewise cooked eggs. She had never been a very good cook but then, living by herself in a cabin miles from the nearest village, she'd never had to learn to prepare for another.

Hoping Janus hadn't suddenly developed a new tastebud and desire for better prepared food, Aurora flung a disobedient crimson strand aside and ascended her stairs. It was a two-story cabin, constructed by her brother and his comrades as a gift. Neither of her siblings had approved of her solitary lifestyle but both respected it. She was best served being one with nature; everyone knew that.

Both hands carefully gripped the silver tray with a novice's ill-ease. She traveled through the short corridor to locate the room that had been Janus' since his unanticipated arrival. Though Aurora selected the chamber because it retained most of the sun's light, her visitor had stated in no uncertain terms that she should close the curtains. Mystified, she complied.

_He's a strange one, that Janus. I wonder where he comes from..._

With a slight kick of her boot, the ranger-healer forced the wood door open. She carried the tray inside with her and shut the entrance with another kick. It was difficult but soon Janus would be well enough to do his own door-closing.

Aurora smiled as she thought of him. Then her cheeks mantled at her unladylike fantasies. _If only Janus knew..._

Janus was gone.

"Break....," she started, her voice first that of a mother's plummeting to that of a child's. Eyes widened. Lips parted. Face contorted. Those hands that had been so meticulously handling the tray faltered. Toast, bacon, eggs, and apple juice all fell to the rugged floor. It jumbled with a variety of colors and destroying the efforts of over an hour of slaving in a kitchen.

But that did not hold her sway. Those hands came to her face in shock. _What happened to him? Did he run away? Was he captured? _All of these dreadful thoughts flooded Aurora's mind. When she searched for his clothing, that, too, was missing. The bed had been rearranged as if the occupier intended to return. This, of course, alluded to the fact that he'd merely stepped out for air.

Still terror clung with a savage grip as if it were a living thing. She approached the window, open now, though it had been closed the last time the ranger had been here. Soft velvet curtains fluttered like feathers. _Dear god, don't tell me he jumped!_

Her cry of desperate horror clipped to that of joy. No, she noted, gazing down, there was no body. Unblemished grass floated in the breeze. No blood, guts, or other more appalling signs of suicide. It all added up to his momentary walk.

Relieved and furious at Janus' actions, Aurora left the chamber, sidestepping her mess. Her boots slammed in angry paces on the stairs. Who was he, to frighten her in such a manner! The nerve! Righteous indignation filled her face. With a swift hand the ranger-healer collected her short sword and bow and arrows. No telling what kind of trouble he'd might have gotten himself into.

Like a cat, she stealthy slunk past numerous aspens and oaks. Grass tickled any bare flesh. The sun shone overhead, tracing over her from when it could bypass the leaves blocking its path. Aurora kept searching, determined to give the blue-haired ass a piece of her mind. Only the sounds of nature answered her waiting thoughts. Then a soft rush of water prevailed the clamor.

The waterfall! _What if he drowned!? _Irritated, she forced those silly musings aside. True, he was yet wounded, but Janus was hardly infirm. She knew that; Aurora had helped him to the road of recovery.

Again, her thoughts irate, Aurora sought the waterfall. Few paralleled her ranger's skills and so it took no time at all to seek out the aforementioned body of water. A few paces east, another west, down past some boulders and the noise intensified.

As Aurora approached, the healer finally caught sight of him. At first there was but an immense waterfall, cascading and flickering in the afternoon sunlight. The next; he emerged from the depths. Surfacing, his vibrant azure hair seemed but waves themselves offering him an animalistic–captivating–look.

She gasped, burned red, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Apparently, Janus was taking the bath she'd failed to give him. Her green pupils trailed the length of his body, mercifully concealed, at least partially, by the crystalline waters. A pristine sapphire blanket surged over his form, akin to his blue mane. Milky foam, products of the indominatable rush, danced near offering an almost surreal feel.

_Well, at least I found him...Dear God, he's naked!..._

Janus hadn't seemed to have noticed her. His delicate fingers traced patterns in the not-so-still surface while five others entered his hair at the temple and streamed it. Silverily shimmers frolicked on the edge, enhanced by the sun. He stood rigid a moment, thinking. Then he supplied a silky sigh.

"Will you get me that towel or do you plan on gawking at me all day?"

An unbidden squeal erupted from Aurora's lips. He had noticed! Blazing even more than before, if that was possible, she retrieved the indicated navy cloth. It felt soft to the touch. Forcing the humiliation from her face and willing herself to banish some VERY unladylike reflections, she handed him the towel.

Though the ranger-healer had politely averted her eyes, she sensed the smug grin. He was laughing! Well, if not technically at least figuratively. When, Aurora turned around after assured of his decency, she saw two eyes gleaming in humor, each as cold as ice and as hot as fire.

_There is something so utterly...just so utterly, about him._

He gestured with a sculptured finger for her to sit. The ranger-healer followed him, half-angry, half-ashamed, wholly-enchanted. A short distance from the surf, Janus reclined on a grassy knob. She, too, lay down.

"Worried?" he questioned, one side of his lips crooked.

"Angry is more like it. I cooked you breakfast, you know."

Those eyes glittered, amused. "Ah, yes, your indigestible, incinerated toast, eggs and bacon with toxic apple juice. I never did quite get over the last bunch of nuked breakfast, thank you very much indeed. So, I had to decline."

A grunt and Aurora retorted, "If you didn't like it you didn't have to eat it."

His laughter, so alien, so vibrant, filled her heart like soft satin. It was not malicious, ill-willed. Instead, Janus seemed to be enjoying the spar. He had eaten her fare, bad though it was, before and always thanked the ranger-healer for her efforts if not her skill. Now, with him so near, Aurora found herself oddly distracted.

These past few weeks, with him so close to death, the ranger-healer slowly but surely become impressed. No one should have recovered from such a horrific beating, let alone be out having a bath! That admiration cultivated into affection. Even as Janus recuperated, Aurora felt herself as drawn to him as the color of blue to a pond.

Or a waterfall.

Her voice soft, she whispered, "Why did you save my life, Janus?"

His tactic was to return the question. "Why did you save mine?"

Like a spoiled child, she crossed her arms as certainly as annoyance crossed her face, "I asked first."

Janus' expression rippled with undecipherable emotion. Finally, he answered, "You needed help."

"That is hardly an answer."

"It's the only one you're going to get." At this, Janus turned away but not before the healer noted his tormented countenance. Eyes slitted. Lips pursued. Fists clenched and unclenched. _He certainly is odd..._she noted.

Not knowing why, Aurora reached out a hand to brush some of his lovely sapphire hair aside. Her fingers tingled at the touch, so unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Heart hammering in her ears, hair like a sunset in disarray, she gently pulled his chin in her direction.

His face was devoid of feeling at her touch and, still, she could sense some potent emotion within her savior. After long moments, Janus lifted both hands to bring her forehead to his lips. As soft as a summer's breeze, he kissed her. She jumped, startled, but he did not release her. Instead, Janus proceeded with his passionate gestures, streaming fingers through her hair. His lips were surprisingly warm.

Aurora did not remain idle. She returned the kisses and embrace with ardent energy. Her breaths came in sweet gasps at his touch. As his hands trailed her hair, the ranger's rippled his. Janus' body felt so good, so right, to be near as if they were not a week or two acquittances but long-time lovers that were well versed in the rhythm of each other's hearts.

_Can he hear the beating of my heart? Surely, he must feel the same! _

Those heartbeats intensified as if the whole of creation fell silent. Golden rays shone over them, warming them even as they warmed one another. With an impossibly gentle touch, Janus removed her clothing: leather hunting skirt, green shirt, and silk scarf. He whispered her name over and over again.

Soon his towel disappeared, falling into the waters, drifting on the currents to be bid away. Its navy color only merged with the blueness of the liquid to be lost forever.

Neither returned to the cabin all that day.


End file.
